


Chasing the Muse

by wishingforatypewriter



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingforatypewriter/pseuds/wishingforatypewriter
Summary: A tale from the distant past at Zaofu in which Kuvira is stubborn, Baatar cares a lot, and Huan finds them both all too predictable. (Basically the Beifong kids pester Kuvira while she's sick and she mostly puts up with it)
Relationships: Baatar Jr./Kuvira (Avatar), Kuvira & Opal (Avatar), Kuvira & Wei (Avatar), Kuvira & Wing (Avatar), Suyin Beifong & Kuvira
Comments: 10
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

There were few sounds that Baatar enjoyed more than the violent patter of rain against the domes at Zaofu. It was a perfect day to stay inside, and the aspiring engineer looked forward to enjoying a warm moonpeach tart and a game of pai sho with Kuvira or Huan before he headed to the workshop to help out his father. 

He found his brother in the drawing room, which Huan _still_ thought was a room specifically made for him to create art in. He was standing by the window facing the training field and scratching chaotic swirls of green and gray paint onto his easel. 

After over a decade of dealing with his brother’s eccentricities, he knew better than to try and guess what it was. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Huan simply shrugged and pointed to the window. “I’m borrowing your muse for my new project,” he said. 

Shaking his head, Baatar glanced out the window and saw Kuvira alone on the field, getting absolutely drenched and trying really hard to do... _something_ with a hunk of raw metal. He glared at Huan after a moment, finally registering the accusation. “She’s not my muse!”

“She totally is, or she would be if you weren’t completely artless,” Huan replied, deadpan. “Just look. The struggle for perfection, the desperate need to please the mentor, the quiet contemplation of a harrowing past—it’s a story that has to be told.” 

Baatar considered asking how those formless squiggles on the parchment had anything to do with Kuvira, but ultimately decided against it. “How long has she been out there?”

“Since her lesson with mom this morning.”

Baatar’s gaze flitted to the window once again. “She’s going to get sick if she stays out there all day.” 

“Yeah, probably,” his brother said, adding another stroke to his painting. “The sacrifice of physical wellbeing in the pursuit of one’s goals. It adds a layer of complexity to the piece.” 

Baatar felt his left eye start to twitch. “And you didn’t even try to get her to come in?”

Huan gave another shrug. “Your muse, your problem, brother,” he said. “Besides, if you try and interrupt her now, she’ll probably bite your head off.” 

Baatar heaved a deep sigh, resenting how right he probably was. But, of course, he was going to try anyway. “I’ll see you at dinner.” 

“He heads downstairs, knowing well the futility of his endeavor, constantly chasing after the elusive muse—”

“Shut up!”

* * *

Kuvira glared at the piece of lead before her in the meteorite garden, stretching and pulling at it to no end. But no matter what she did, it just refused to liquefy. After her umpteenth failed attempt, she growled, chucking it on the ground. It brought a wave of mud splattering up at her, worsening her mood. 

That morning, when Suyin turned the hard metal into liquid and made it dance while telling stories of her childhood waterbending friend, it had looked so easy. But the sun had long since disappeared along with her teacher and—it seemed—any hope of her mastering this skill. 

With a beleaguered sigh, she bent the mud off her face and clothes, wrung some of the water from her braid, and got back into the stance Suyin had shown her. She had been getting close again—she truly believed it—when a voice broke her focus. 

“Kuvira, come inside. It’s freezing!”

She let the lead drop at her feet, and whirled around with murder in her posture. “Not now, Baatar!” 

Baatar ignored her and came closer until his large green umbrella was covering her as well. Although she kept up her scowl, it felt so good not to be pelted by water. 

“Whatever you’re working on can wait until it’s dry out,” he said, trying to be the voice of reason, as always. 

“I’m fine,” Kuvira replied, but as soon as the wind blew at them, she shivered violently.

He sighed. “Kuvira.”

She honestly did not have the energy to argue with him. “I’ll come in as soon as I can get it to maintain a liquid state.” 

Baatar blinked at her a few times. “Wait, that’s what you’re doing? Mom is literally the only person in Zaofu who can do that.” 

“And she wants me to learn it, so I’m going to,” Kuvira explained. “I can’t let Su down.” 

“She has two children who can’t earthbend at all. Something tells me she’ll survive.”

Finding no good response to this, Kuvira glanced down at her feet. “Look, you hate the rain, and your dad’s gonna start looking for you if you don’t meet him soon. Don’t worry about me.”

He smiled softly, shaking his head at her. “You always say that, but–”

Just then, a familiar call of “ _Junior_ ” came from an upstairs window, and Baatar said a very bad word under his breath. 

Kuvira chuckled a bit. She was _always_ right.

“You’ll be in soon?” he asked, glancing at her with concern. 

“Yes, now just go so I can focus!” She bent a path of solid, dry earth leading back to the house for emphasis. 

When he was halfway back she let the path turn to mud again, and watched as his feet sunk deep into it. 

“Kuvira!” He turned around, and if looks could kill, he’d have her ten feet under. 

“Sorry! I couldn’t resist,” she called to him, laughing in earnest as she bent the mud out of his shoes and trousers. “That was for breaking my concentration earlier!”

With a flick of her wrist she made the path reappear, and allowed him to go back inside without any further harassment.

The hunk of lead looked no more liquefiable than it had back before he distracted her. It was going to be a very long day after all. 


	2. Chapter 2

Kuvira sat cross-legged on a couch in the Beifongs’ library, reading a tome on the military strategies of the Fire Nation throughout the Hundred Year War. History had always been her best subject, especially where important battles were concerned. The tutors said she possessed a rare mind for the humanities in a land as tech-focused as Zaofu, though Kuvira mostly thought this was a roundabout way of saying she was bad at math. But today all the characters were blurring together on the page, swirling about like a sandbender’s cyclone.

She shook her head, trying to focus, but the act only made the throbbing around her temples acutely worse. She let her eyes draw closed and tried to ground herself in the familiar vibrations of Suyin’s estate. The twins were running amok downstairs, driving Master Chan’s blood pressure up as he tried to lecture them on the fundamentals of earthbending. Opal was on a playdate with the Park sisters, drinking kale shakes and dressing their expensive dolls from the United Republic. Huan was Huan-ing as usual, bending scrap metal into contorted shapes up in his darkened room. 

And then there was Baatar, newly escaped from his father’s workshop, and on his way to bother her, no doubt. She traced the vibrations of his steps all through the house—always in an inelegant rush—until he stopped in front of her. 

“Kuvira?” he asked quietly, and she could clearly visualize the concerned expression on his face. 

“Hmm?” Kuvira still hadn’t found the will to open her eyes, but she sensed him take a step closer before he rested a tentative hand on her shoulder. 

“Are you alright?”

She did open her eyes then, wincing slightly against the light. Did Baatar Sr.  _ really _ have to “revolutionize” the lighting and make it so damn bright in here? “I’m fine,” she said, and then coughed a bit. 

“It doesn’t take Aiwei to see that isn’t true,” he said, looking her over warily. “I told you not to stay out all night.” 

Kuvira rolled her eyes. To his credit, he had told her, and judging by how much like death she felt, he had probably been right, but there was no way she’d ever admit it. “It was worth it.” 

Channeling her focus, she bent the metal collar on his tunic, removing it from the fabric and calling it towards her. She turned the metal plates to liquid in her grasp and sent it around his head in a graceful arc before reforming the accessory. 

“Incredible,” he said, tracing his fingers over the plates, an awestruck expression on his face. 

“I try,” she replied and then launched into a coughing fit, her throat and chest burning in the aftermath.

“You really should rest if you’re not feeling well,” Baatar told her. “I could ask the kitchen staff to send some tea up to your room.” 

She wasn’t left with enough time to catch her breath and form a rebuttal before the twin terrors descended upon them. 

“Kuvira!” Wing shouted at the top of his lungs, kicking the doors of the library open. 

“Kuvira!” Wei added on for emphasis.

“KUVIRA!”

“AAAAAAA!

“AAAAAAA!”

“AAAAAAA!”

“Yes, Baby Beifongs?” she asked, thinking it best to interrupt them before her ears started bleeding. The six-year-olds would never need to master their bending with such a deadly skill in their arsenal. 

“Can you teach us how to metalbend with the cables?” Wing asked, pinning her under a wide-eyed stare, which his twin matched in an instant. 

“Master Chan said we’re too young, but what does he know?” Wei added. 

“Yeah, you’re already better than him, and you’re not even as old as Junior.”

“So will you show us?”

“Please?”

“Please?”

“PLEASE?”

“PLEASE?”

Kuvira exhaled deeply, bringing her fingertips to her forehead. Generally, she adored Baby Beifongs. They never grated on her nerves the way Opal sometimes did. But _ why today? _

“Quiet down and stop bothering her,” Baatar said, trying to summon the authority that being the oldest brother was supposed to give him in theory. It never quite worked for him, but she appreciated the effort nonetheless. “Master Chan will teach you when you’re ready.” 

“But we don’t even bother her as much as Opal!” Wei argued. 

“Yeah, or Huan!” 

“Or you! How come you only hang around the training field when Kuvira’s there, huh?” Wei asked. 

“Opal says ‘cuz you like her. Do you like her?” Wing inquired.

“He must like her. It’s not like she can teach him earthbending,” Wei decided. 

Kuvira giggled a bit behind her hands, knowing that Baatar likely had half a mind to strangle them. “He doesn’t like me,” she said firmly, deciding to save him. “We’re just the closest together in age. It’s the same way you guys hang out with Opal and her friends more than you do with us and Huan.”

“Oh,” the twins said simultaneously. 

“That’s what we get for listening to Opal,” Wing said. 

“Anyway, will you show us?” Wei asked. 

“Yeah, will you show us?”

Kuvira sighed. Anything to make them shut up for a minute. “Alright, fine. Training field in ten,” she said. “And I better not hear any crying, no matter how difficult it gets. Am I understood, Baby Beifongs?” 

“Yes, ma’am!” they said in unison, and saluted her playfully before running off. 

Once they were gone, Baatar gave her a long look. “You know, you don’t have to entertain them.” 

“It’s fine.” Kuvira got up from the couch, grounding herself in the floorboards to stop the room from spinning. “They’ll lose interest if they don’t get it in the first fifteen minutes.”

Baatar sighed. “You really don’t look well. Should you—”

“You know, if you didn’t fuss like this all the time, they wouldn’t think you liked me.” To her amusement, that shut him up real fast. “Seriously, though, don’t worry. This won’t take long.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's official. Baby Wing and Wei are my new favorite thing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kuvira and Opal are not quite sisters

Kuvira did not particularly understand how to meditate. She had read once that the earthbending masters of old—powerful sages like Jianzhu the Architect (who Su said she should not admire as much as she did)—had done it regularly. But the practice fell widely out of fashion in the Earth Kingdom during the Hundred Year War, and never quite made a comeback. 

At any rate, Kuvira now truly wished she knew how to transcend her immediate surroundings, to drift away from the sharp stinging in her palm where she stopped Wing from permanently scarring his twin with a cable he didn’t have full control of and the bursts of pain at her scalp as Opal tried to force her hair up into a Fire Nation topknot. 

The younger girl growled in frustration just before Kuvira felt her hair fall around her shoulders yet again. 

“Opal, just give up,” she said, unable to fully sift the annoyance out of her voice. She suppressed a shiver and wondered why in the name of Kyoshi Opal had to set up her pretend salon outside in the gardens. “I have things to do.” 

“You do not!” Opal argued as she began her assault on Kuvira’s hair anew. “You were in your bed sleeping when I went to find you.”

Ah yes, that had been a very nice ten minutes. And the only thing that had kept Kuvira from flinging the little tyrant out of her room metalbending style was Su’s very recent and very forceful request that she try and be nicer to her. 

_ I know she doesn’t always show it, but Opal adores you, Kuvira. You’re like a big sister to her. _

She wondered whether such outlandish statements were meant to be lies when Su said them, or if she was just that off the mark when it came to her daughter’s feelings. She had learned over the past few years that her mentor had a habit of seeing whatever suited her in the place of what actually was, and compelling those around her to interpret things in her way. 

Kuvira figured that must be what real power is—the ability to bend reality itself without consequences. How many metalbending forms would she have to master before Suyin would teach her _that_ skill? 

“When does the beauty parlour close, anyway?” Huan asked from his own rock stool. He was in the process of receiving a Water Tribe hairstyle with an elaborate braid and front loopies from Lian Park, who was by all appearances a much gentler beautician than his sister. 

At this Opal made a dismissive gesture with her hairbrush. “You can’t rush the process, Huan. Beauty takes time.”

Huan nodded solemnly, a lone loopy bobbing along with his head. “True. I respect your artistic resolve.” 

Kuvira’s shoulders slumped a little. Great. Now Opal had gone and appealed to his aesthetic sense. Without Huan on her side, they’d be out here  _ forever _ . Gradually, she let her head fall forward until her forehead rested on her knees. She tried to float out of her body once again, leaving behind the headache and the chills and the heaviness in her chest that felt like a pile of unbendable boulders. Stillness was supposed to help—neutral jing or something. 

There were a few moments of relative peace before Opal tapped her on the shoulder with the back of the brush. 

“Kuvira, work with me here,” she huffed, one hand on her hip. 

“Alright, alright.” She cleared her throat and straightened back up. 

“Why are you so tired, anyway?” Opal asked with a hint of suspicion in her voice that was so much like Suyin it was dizzying. 

“Some of us have training.” 

Opal scoffed. “Oh, it must be  _ so _ difficult being a talented bender. How do you ever manage all the praise and attention?”

The next few tugs on her hair seemed especially enthusiastic. 

Great, so it was going to be one of those kinds of days. Honestly, Kuvira didn’t know whether Opal was actually worse than Baatar when it came to the nonbending Beifong angst, but at least the latter never felt the need to take it out on her scalp. 

Kuvira took a deep breath, searching for some patience and compassion for this little brat who knew for certain that she would be wealthy and cared for until she was Master Toph’s age, but still wasn’t satisfied. She opened her mouth to lie and tell her that bending wasn’t that big of a deal, and manipulating an element was only about as gratifying as playing with putty or fashion dolls, but she only ended up coughing instead. Maybe the falsehood was just too great. 

“I don’t think your sister feels well,” Lian said when the coughing didn’t stop. Tears stung at Kuvira’s eyes as she tried to suppress the fit, and it felt like her throat was being clawed apart by wolfbats. 

“We’re not sisters,” Opal immediately retorted; it was a reflex for her at this point. But still her small hand drifted to Kuvira’s back and rubbed it lightly until she could draw a breath without choking. 

“You okay?” she asked. 

“I’m fine,” Kuvira said quickly, and winced at the sound of her own voice. 

“Well, you messed your hair up again,” Opal pointed out. “I’m gonna go get a different clip.” 

She returned ten minutes later trailed by a servant who bore a tray of tea and sweet snacks. 

“My salon serves refreshments,” she announced, smiling as the Park girl went straight for a red bean bun, completely forsaking the end of Huan’s braid. Huan, for his part, took up a papaya tart and one of the four steaming cups of tea. 

When they both seemed suitably distracted, Opal took one of the remaining teacups and placed it in Kuvira’s hands in a manner that seemed just shy of aggressive. 

“Thanks?” she said before coughing a few times, her chest on fire yet again. 

“Just make sure you drink all of it.” She resumed her work with Kuvira’s hair, pulling just as hard as ever. “You sound terrible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been difficult to get a real read on Kuvira's relationship with Opal. ROTE made me even more confused than I had been originally (there were...many contradictions). But I hypothesize that when they were younger they cared about each other, but the relationship never quite flourished because each of them was somewhat jealous of the other. Who really knows, though?


	4. Chapter 4

“This is too precious,” Suyin gushed as she happened upon Opal’s popup salon. 

Kuvira must have truly reached a low point to not have sensed her mentor approaching. Was this what being a nonbender felt like? No wonder why they always seemed so upset about it. 

“My goodness, you look just like Katara.” Su bent down to inspect Huan’s hair loopies, and commended Lian on her strong execution. She then turned her attention to Kuvira. “And you look like Izumi back when we were kids. Of course, she wears her hair a little differently now that she’s firelord.” 

“Really?” Opal asked, the interest clear in her voice. “Do you have a picture? I can try it out right now.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Kuvira growled, shrugging away when Opal reached for her head yet again. She had run out of tea fifteen minutes ago, and her patience had disappeared right along with it. The tired, shivery feeling from before was back with a vengeance, and it was starting to hurt a little bit every time she breathed in. She was in absolutely no mood to do a reprise of her role as mannequin head anytime soon. 

Opal sighed, placing her hands on her hips. “But I can make you look like the firelord! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!” 

The younger girl moved to touch her hair, and Kuvia swatted her hands away, trying her hardest not to be too rough so Suyin wouldn’t scold her about it later. “Just grow your own hair out and leave me alone!” After this, s he swallowed thickly to fight off the urge to cough. Raising her voice probably hadn’t been the best idea. 

Opal rolled her eyes. “Leave you alone so you can wear the same boring ponytail every day?” 

Su shook her head at them, chuckling a bit, and then ran her fingers lightly over the contentious topknot. “It’s so nice that you two are bonding,” she said. “But I’ll need to steal Kuvira away for a while.”

_ Oh, thank Kyoshi. _

“Really?” she asked, trying to sound neutral about it. 

“I’ll be heading to Gaoling for a few days, so I won’t be here for our usual training session,” Su told her. “I set aside some time for a quick spar this afternoon, so—”

“I’ll get dressed.” Kuvira nearly jumped off the pseudo styling chair. While she did not particularly feel like sparring—which was a rarity—it certainly beat the prospect of having Opal pull on her hair for another hour. 

Su regarded her with a soft smile. “Meet me in the meteorite garden in half an hour,” she said. “A little more sunlight might do you some good. You’re looking a bit pale today.” 

With that, the matriarch bid Opal and Huan goodbye, asked Lian to say hello to her parents for her, and then was gone. Kuvira was making moves to disappear herself when Lian called out to her. 

“If you run into my sister, can you tell her that I’m gonna go look at Huan’s sculptures after this?” she asked. 

“Sure. Where is she?” Kuvira would definitely make it her business to be wherever Peony Park was not, lest today become the day when she finally drops a boulder on that annoying little buzzard wasp. 

Lian thought for a moment. “Earlier she said she was going to go see what Baatar Jr. was doing.” 

"Why would she do that?" Kuvira had asked the question before it even fully formed in her head. She thought she saw Huan smirk for half a second, but decided against reading too much into it. 

Lian gave a casual shrug. “Our mom told us we should try to marry princes or Beifongs when we’re older, but no one wants to move to Ba Sing Se and I already called dibs on Huan.”

“I always knew you had taste, Lian,” Huan quipped, nodding appreciatively. 

“You’d marry me, right?” Lian asked him in a conversational tone.

Huan paused to consider it, as though he were contemplating what he might eat for lunch the next day. “Yeah, probably. Let’s revisit it in ten years.”

“Agreed,” Lian said, grinning broadly, before turning her attention back to Kuvira. “Anyway, mom says Baatar Jr. is her best bet even though all he does is read books and avoid talking to her.”

Opal groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “She’s wasting her time! How many times do I have to say it? Junior is not interested in Peony; he likes Kuvira.”

Kuvira sighed heavily, her headache coming back full force. She covered her eyes with her palm for a moment, relishing the cool, steadying feeling of it. “Opal, you have _got_ to stop telling people that.”

“But it’s so obvious!” the younger girl said. “Even the twins know it!” 

Instead of pointing out that Wing and Wei would enthusiastically believe anything that might embarrass one of their older siblings, Kuvira decided to go with negative jing this time and head back up to her room to change into her training clothes and armor. 

When she was on her way down to the meteorite garden—despite the aching protest of her head, even after she freed it from the ridiculous topknot, and every muscle in her body—Kuvira caught sight of Baatar and Peony Park sitting at the edge of the pond. 

Baatar seemed painfully bored and put out in the extreme; his father had probably forced him to come outside and entertain Peony. He nodded at appropriate moments in the conversation, but stole glances at the book in his lap whenever his companion got consumed by her own stories. She seemed to be talking at length about her family’s second vacation house on Kyoshi Island—how much it had cost and how her parents had hired goons to intimidate the neighbors into selling their land. 

After lingering for a moment behind a large flowering tree, wondering what the point of the nobility was if it just produced people like her, Kuvira was tempted by a base impulse. Once Peony’s monologue drifted to the topic of disciplining the servants when they got unruly, Kuvira swiped her foot against the ground in a short, deft motion, communing with a loose stone on the bank and sending it, along with the elder Park girl, tumbling into the pond.

Peony’s horrified shrieks were as sweet to Kuvira’s ears as a love song on the phonograph. 

There had been no dirt raised in the covert attack, no skid marks, no evidence of earthbending whatsoever. But perhaps because no one in this world was more familiar with her tricks, Baatar’s gaze still shot towards the grounds as soon as it happened. Unable to resist taking credit for her exploits, Kuvira peeked her head out from behind the trees while Peony screeched and splashed and searched the pond’s depths for a dislodged earring. She gave a little wave, mouthed ‘You’re welcome,’ and started sprinting to the meteorite garden before he could stop gaping at her, eyes wide as an elephant koi’s and filled with mirth behind his glasses. 

She arrived at Suyin’s side sweatier and far more out of breath than she had any right to be after such a short run, but luckily her mentor didn’t seem to notice. Su was playing with a ball of lead, turning the metal from solid to liquid and back again with an almost distracted ease. 

“There you are, Kuvira,” Su said, smiling. In an instant, the matriarch bent the metal into a spiked ball and chain and dipped into a fighting stance. “Let’s see how much you’ve grown since last time.”

Kuvira groaned internally as she envisioned getting whacked with that thing if she wasn’t fast enough. Still, she got into her stance and hoped for the best. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone! Happy holidays! I think the next chapter is going to be the last one (this fic has already extended a bit further than I originally intended it to lol).


	5. Chapter 5

_There were two badgermoles standing above Kuvira in the cave, one green and one blue. They spoke to each other in hushed tones, half-sentences about frozen frogs healing herbs and the point at which heat became dangerous._

_The green badgermole pressed its cool, damp nose against her forehead, while the blue one poured water from the cave lagoon on the fires beneath her ribs and sternum. They bore new tunnels into the earth, and she followed them through their labyrinths until they surfaced back in Zaofu._

When Kuvira opened her eyes, Su was there, wiping her face with a cool towel that smelled faintly of jasmine. She was back in her room, but couldn’t quite remember how she’d gotten there. 

“Su?” she asked, her voice coming out as a strained whisper. 

“I’m here.” The matriarch smoothed Kuvira’s hair back gently, tempting her to fall asleep again. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay—” The words caught in Kuvira’s throat, and she turned onto her side, coughing into the pillow. Su rubbed her back until the fit ended, reminding her to breathe all the while.

“You sound so miserable,” the matriarch said, her features pulled into a pensive expression as she rested the back of her hand on Kuvira’s forehead. “Maybe I should push back the trip to Gaoling. I can stay a few more days if you need me.” 

Kuvira briefly closed her eyes, allowing Su’s touch to cool her skin for a few crucial seconds before she turned her face away. “No, you should go,” she said, knowing that it was what her mentor wanted to hear. If she had any real inclination to delay her plans, it would have been a declaration rather than an offer. “I’ll be fine.” 

“You’ll be fine as long as you take the time you need to rest and recover, which is the exact opposite of what you have been doing,” Su said, the sympathy in her tone replaced with steel and iron. “What even possessed you to come out to spar with a fever?”

“I was tired of hair salon."

Su laughed a little, despite herself. “You are going to give me gray hair before I’m forty, you know,” she said. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me, passing out like that? I almost thought I had killed you.” 

“You didn’t, though,” Kuvira said, offering a ghost of a smile. 

“Small miracles, I suppose. But next time, just ask for a break,” she said. “Toph used to work me and my sister to the bone, and we would have accepted death before admitting that something was too much. I don’t ever want it to be that way between you and me. Do you understand?”

Kuvira nodded. “I’ll tell you next time.” 

“Good.” Su handed Kuvira a tiny glass cup filled with a dark liquid. “Now drink this and try to sleep some more. I’ll tell Opal and the boys to stay out of your hair for a little bit. 

She downed the medicine in one gulp, trying not to flinch at the foul taste of it. “Thanks, Su.”

“Of course.” The matriarch hugged her briefly, then fixed her under a stern gaze. “No training or studio time until I’m back; I mean it, Kuvira.” 

“Okay, okay. I promise.” 

Kuvira fell asleep again a few minutes after her mentor left and dreamed of battles and caves and badgermoles digging tunnels to Gaoling and Omashu and Ba Sing Se. Hours later, she woke with a start to the heavy screeching sound of metal on metal. 

When her vision focused, she was greeted with the sight of Opal, red-faced and pushing her giant Kyoshi Dreamhouse over the threshold of the room. Kuvira pushed herself into a sitting position and watched the younger girl for a moment before making up her mind to intervene. 

“Opal, what are you doing?”

The Beifong heiress froze as though she’d been caught at a crime scene. “You weren’t supposed to wake up,” she said with a hint of a pout. 

“Well, you weren’t exactly quiet,“ Kuvira replied, running a hand through her loose hair. “Are you trying to turn my room into your overflow toy closet again?”

“That was one time!” Opal fired back. “And, no. Mom said I should try to be nice because you’re sick. I didn’t let you play with the dollhouse last time, but you can have it now.”

Kuvira shook her head, grinning slightly at the absurdity of the moment. “Opal,” she said slowly, “that was almost four years ago. I don’t want your dollhouse.”

“Oh.” The younger girl looked down. “I guess I’ll just bring it back to my room, then.” 

She gave the house a small shove, then another, sighing loudly to underscore the arduous nature of the task. 

Kuvira rolled her eyes and the theatrics, already willing herself to stand up. “Need some help?” 

Opal nodded sheepishly. "Mhm." 

After she got out of bed—feeling only slightly dizzy in the aftermath—Kuvira flicked her wrist and the mostly metal dollhouse started floating in midair. At least her bending was still intact. “Come on; let’s go.” 

Once the dollhouse was settled back in Opal’s room, the heiress glanced at Kuvira, who was bent double in a coughing fit. 

“This is not how I hoped this would turn out,” she said, hovering beside her in a mildly anxious state. “You okay?” 

“Better than earlier,” Kuvira said as she massaged the middle of her chest. 

“A step above passing out. That’s _so_ reassuring.” The younger girl shot an unimpressed look Kuvira's way. “I’ll call down to the kitchens. Maybe they can bring something for your throat.” 

“The kitchen staff are already done for the day,” Kuvira reminded her. 

Opal waved her off. “Yeah, but if you ask a guard to radio the chef, he’ll still make something. Mom does it all the time when we want a midnight snack.” 

Kuvira sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just because you can ask for something doesn’t mean that you should,” she said. “How about you have them bring up some tea in the morning?” 

“And I can do your hair like the firelord?” 

Did she always have to ruin it? “Maybe next week.” 

Twenty minutes later, when Kuvira was back in her room reading that copy of _Love amongst the Dragons_ she’d been putting off for the past few months, there was a knock on her door—quiet, polite, hesitant. Baatar, undoubtedly. 

She made a small clockwise motion with her hand and the knob turned, allowing him entry. 

He stood in the doorway for a moment, forgetting his words entirely. Kuvira simply waited.

“Hey,” he said. "So...Opal told me you were at death’s door and insisted that you wouldn’t make it if I didn’t go downstairs and bring you sustenance.” 

Kuvira rolled her eyes, her cheeks heating up. “I’m beginning to think that her hating me was a lot less trouble than whatever this is.”

“Maybe so,” Baatar said. “But I still thought you might like this.”

He handed her a small bowl filled with what looked like freshly fallen snow, drenched in lychee syrup. 

“You finished the snow machine,” she said. The fledgling invention had been a singular obsession of his for months after Su took him to visit the Southern Water Tribe and someone told him that the treat couldn’t be recreated without waterbending. Nothing was ever quite as motivating as spite. 

Baatar adjusted his glasses, grinning a bit. “Well, you did buy me some free time this afternoon with the whole Peony situation,” he said. “Naturally, she wanted to go home after...well, after her encounter with the pond.” 

Kuvira smirked, tasting triumph on each spoonful of sweet snow. “I’m glad I could be of help to science,” she said. 

Just then, Huan appeared in the doorway, still sporting Lian Park’s hair loopies from earlier and carrying a sizable canvas. “Snow machine finished?” 

Baatar nodded. “Just a few minutes ago,” he said. “And the painting?”

“Done drying now,” Huan replied. 

“New painting?” Kuvira asked, glancing from one brother to the other. “Let me see.”

Huan showed it to her, clearly making a great effort to remain expressionless.

Kuvira studied the swirls of gray and green, interspersed with flecks of gold and silver. “I like what you’re doing with the different points of light and shadow,” she said. “It’s sort of like...an internal struggle, maybe?”

Huan turned towards Baatar with a pointed look. “ _Kuvira_ understands it.”

Baatar nearly growled, signaling that they’d had this argument several times before. “How is one supposed to derive meaning from just a few swirls of color?”

“See how artless he is?” Huan asked Kuvira, earning a few hoarse chuckles from her. 

“Be nice, Huan.” She beckoned the artist to sit beside her on the bed. “He’ll get there eventually. Besides, I think there’s some level of art in the snow machine.” 

Baatar looked pleased for a moment, but then his expression changed. “You just want more, don’t you?”

“If I say yes, will you still bring it?” she asked. 

“Bring me some, too,” Huan said. 

Baatar glared at them both, but then headed back down to his workshop for more sweet snow, as they both knew he would. 

The brothers stayed with Kuvira through the night, arguing and eating sweets and playing speed pai sho—Huan wrapping her in blankets like his last paper mache project after she shivered _just one time_ , and Baatar brewing a mediocre, but very drinkable pot of tea to help her throat. 

She drifted into sleep again, sandwiched between the two of them, listening to Baatar outlining the basic laws of cryogenics and Huan philosophizing over when their practical applications might fall into the hallowed category of art, and feeling spoiled for the first time in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone!


End file.
